


Campus

by ClairDePlume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Sirius Black, Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M, No Magic AU, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClairDePlume/pseuds/ClairDePlume
Summary: I pull my shirt on, walk out the doorDrag my feet along the floorThen I see you, you're walking 'cross the campusCruel professor, studying romancesHow am I supposed to pretendI never want to see you again?Remus is a scolarship student at the prestigious school of Hogwarts. His life at home is hell, and it isn't much better at school. He hates all about it. And he especially hates all the rich kids that go there. But his vision falters when he learns that rich kids can have problems too.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Remus sets foot in the counsellor office at exactly 11 AM. If there’s one thing he has learned in his entire life, it’s being on time. If you’re sharp on time, you can’t be yelled at for being late. You can’t be yelled at for being early either, so there’s that. The more you’re on time, the more you avoid trouble. 

He smiles the fake smile he saves for teachers and adults and says he has an appointment. He didn’t take the appointment, to be honest. If he only listened to himself he would have never set a toe in this room but she summoned him to her office. 

He had laughed when he received the little cardstock saying he was wanted at the counsellor. He was almost surprised he wasn’t summoned earlier. She had been at this bloody school for like two months, now. She must be getting tired of hearing rich kids coming with their fucking rich kids problems. 

What did they say to her anyway? He could just picture Sirius Black on a chair in her office frowning his delicate eyebrows and sporting a pathetic pout, telling her “My parents want to disown me. What am I going to do without daddy’s money?”. Ha. What a joke. She must have felt brilliant when she thought of summoning him. Why not take the poor orphan scholarship kid, he must have a damn good tragic backstory, doesn’t he? How distracting and interesting that would be. She must have gloated when she read his record. 

“Hello!” she beams, “What’s your name, please?”  
“Lupin Remus, miss”

He looks her up and down. She’s really young. She can’t have been out of school for more than five years. She tied her hair in a braid and wears little glasses. She must be the kind that’s afraid the students will make fun her. He can tell she spent thirty minutes choosing her outfit. She wants to look like someone fun to talk to with the extravagant skirt she’s wearing. Her smile is a bit too warm. It makes him sick. Too much happiness is always fake. He looks at her again. If she was a teacher, she would probably give As to everyone in the class. There’s no use being polite to her. She won’t say anything if he isn’t. 

“So, Remus, is there something you’d like to talk about?”  
“Well, I wouldn’t know. You’re the one who summoned me.”  
“Right.” She smiles a forced smile, trying to show she has understood his joke. He didn’t mean it as a joke. Not really. “I’ve been reading your record. You’re not under your parent’s guard anymore.” She says that kind of like a question.  
“No.”  
“You were in foster care for a time.”

God, she’s really going for it. Not even a tad of small talk about the weather or how he got into the school, straight to his youth and family situation. Jesus. He doesn’t want to talk about it. If he just agrees with everything she says, it will hopefully be done with quickly.

“Yeah.”  
“Was it nice there?”

She really is posh, isn’t she. Like everyone at this bloody school. How could sleeping in a dormitory with forty other boys and older boys bullying you be nice? Keep calm. Smile. Look relaxed.

“Wasn’t horrible, I guess.”  
“Who do you live with now?”  
“My uncle.”

He almost adds “On my mother’s side” but he doesn’t want to tell her more than what is strictly necessary. She probably knows, anyways. 

“Would you mind telling me where the scar comes from?”

He arches a brow. That’s so straight-forward he is almost surprised. Aren’t psychologists supposed to show you paint stains and asks you what they make you think about? Interpret your dreams? Make you talk until you have said everything except what you actually have come to talk about and all that shit? She really must be straight out of school.

“I think you already know.”  
“As a matter of fact, yes. But I’d like you to tell me yourself”  
“He threw a glass bottle at me. My dad I mean. Lost the custody, ‘course. Yes, that’s terrible, poor me. Yes, I’m lucky it didn’t reach my eyes. No, I don’t feel it anymore. Here’s the tragic backstory. You happy?”

She doesn’t say anything about his lack of respect. He knew it.  
He used to be self-conscious about his scar. It stretches on his face like a deletion crossing bad poetry. He would probably have tried to hide it with foundation when he was little, but he never had a feminine figure in his life after being removed from his family. His mum didn’t wear makeup anyway. Ben would probably kick him out if he saw him wearing makeup. 

Now, he doesn’t care about the scar. He’s never going to be handsome, what about it? He’s not going to let himself be sick about it.

“And how are you getting by? Is everything going okay for you? Do you get along with your uncle?”

He strangles a laugh. Is he supposed to talk about the fact that he’s working specifically to get out of this shithole of a house he lives in as fast as possible? That he had to pay himself for his toothbrush or else he probably wouldn’t have one? About how the house is filled with trash, and bottles, and cigarettes? About how he’s been smoking for three years even though he’s technically still underage?

“Nah. Everything’s fine.”

He spends one hour in the counsellor’s office. Ms Stevens -that’s the lady’s name (he read it on the door and he can’t help but think that’s such a boring name. Still better than Remus fucking Lupin, though)- talks to him like he’s a charity case, pitying him and all that shit.

The office is filled with those posters with inspirational but meaningless quotes, like “Keep calm” and “Breathe. Everything will be okay” and he hates it. Everything in his life is not going to magically turn okay just because he decides to do some breathing exercises. She also has literary quotes plastered everywhere. She definitely looks like an English major, anyways. He sniggers when he reads Baudelaire’s “Là tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, luxe, calme et volupté ». Is she talking about her shabby office? That’s such a pretentious quote. He never quite liked it.

When he finally gets out of the office, he lets out a sigh. He feels so tired. The only thing he wants is to fall on his bed and sleep. But he can’t. He has to go through all of his classes without accidentally falling asleep, then take the bus, then do his homework, then try to navigate the evening without too much trouble. Good thing he didn’t pick the afternoon shift at the record shop, or he would have collapsed of exhaustion. 

He meets Lily on the way to their history class. She asks him how the session went, what the counsellor wanted.

“Just wanted to see how the elite of poor-as-dirt students was doing. Watch your back, you might get a little cardstock convocation too when she moves to -he dramatically gasps- the middle-class students.”

Lily laughs. The very vast majority of the school is rich. Like has-domestic-workers rich. Like can-afford-to-go-at-the-other-end-of-the-world-for-every-vacation rich. They were all born with silver spoons in their mouths, and somehow, Remus can’t help but hate them for that. They don’t know what struggle really is. 

Lily’s family’s rich too. At least, they’re rich in Remus’ standard. But they’re just middle class. They put all of their money to send Lily to Hogwarts -what an awful name for such a luxurious school-, hoping she would have a future as bright as the eye-shadow some girls apply every morning in the school bathroom to try and look “cool”. This school isn’t as good as people think it is, but he doesn’t care anymore, he just want to get his diploma and have the prestigious name “Hogwarts” printed on it. Lily’s sister is sick with jealousy because of that. She’s not clever enough to go to an elite school, so she treats Lily like a freak for it. Remus hates her, but Lily still believe they can make peace together. He doesn’t want to deceive her hopes. 

He sights again when he sees the old history teacher turn around the corner. Old professor Binns’ a bore and it’s sure to be a long hour.


	2. Chapter 2

History class is just as long as he expected it to be. He feels himself drifting to sleep several times, but he can’t allow himself to do so. He’s jealous of all his classmates.

Pettigrew’s sleeping. Two tables on the left, McKinnon is doing the same. McDonald and Meadowes are whispering in front of him. He think he saw one of them pull out a bottle of nail polish before. Lily’s at least trying to pay attention, but he sees her scribbling geometrical patterns, full of cubes and triangles, in the margin of her notebook. Potter and Black are playing Noughts and Crosses at the back of the class. 

He knows they’ll still both get As. Black’s definitely going to have an A*. Damn posh kid culture. He heard Black say to Potter once that his mom used to make him read advanced school manuals during the holidays. He probably read Hamlet when Remus used to read the Famous Five. Bloody hell, he did prefer the famous five; he could never stand Hamlet, no matter how good McGonagall said his essays about the play were.

He misses the time he was at old St Michael. He had changed school in Year 8, after he got the scholarship. It was an honour and a rare occasion to change in the middle of secondary school, and they made sure he understood that. 

Going from a comprehensive state to a grammar school had been fucking hard, but he was so determined to get out of his neighbourhood that it didn’t seem that bad at the time. He was too young to work at the time, so there wasn’t much he could do anyways. Still, back at St Michael, he didn’t have to do much to ensure he would have decent grades. The teachers would allow him to do whatever he wanted in class as long as he did good on the tests. 

He still remembers the other boys sleeping and jokingly shouting “fuck you, miss!” when the teacher said they would have a test. The students at Hogwarts aren’t better, though, as prove his classmates doing anything but work. He kind of misses the atmosphere St Michael, though. They were funnier.

At two, he’s sitting on his usual chair in English class. The brown-haired-girl who’s in charge of collecting the homework looks at him weird when he shakes his head without giving her anything. 

Thank god, the class doesn’t seem as long as history did. He doesn’t really like The Picture of Dorian Gray either (“blah blah, oh no, I’m too beautiful let’s sell my soul to the devil, blah blah blah, oops I killed someone”), but at least, the class’s interesting. He’d rather read some Sylvia Plath, though, or Aragon’s Aurélien, or finish Beauvoir’s Second Sex he has in his bag. But he accepts Wilde for Minnie’s sake, who’s honestly one of the best teachers he’s ever had.

At the end of the class, he’s barely crossing the frame of the door with a bunch of other students when he’s forced to stop. “Mr. Lupin”, McGonagall calls, calmly, “would you mind staying here for a few minutes?”

Yes, he minds. He doesn’t want to stay here. He’d like to run away. But he can’t. He just turns back and smiles and walks toward her. She waits for everybody else to be out of the room and Remus just waits awkwardly next to her desk. Then she finally looks at him. She looks tired and has her usual closed face, but she still gives him a small smile.

“It seems like I couldn’t find your name in the batch of papers from today’s homework…” she began.  
“I’m sorry Professor, I, er… Spilled coffee on my homework last night.”  
“Coffee?”  
“Yes, yes, it sounds stupid, I know. I did do it, I promise. It’s just… It’s stained. Here, look.” He sets his bag on the desk closest to him, opening it and anxiously looking into the messy bag for that damn homework. After all, it’s not fair for him to get a D when he actually did his work.

It wasn’t even him who spilled the coffee, it was his uncle. Remus still has no idea if he did it on purpose. But he didn’t want to go whine to her about it like an idiot, so he had just calculated his average in the class and seen if it was still decent with a bad grade.

He shows the teacher his paper. A big brown stain spreads around the first page. You can’t even make out the “Lupin Remus” in the margin. She still takes it, sits at the desk and opens it.

“It’s no good, Professor” he sighs, “you can’t read it. I tried. Wanted to do it again before class, but I didn’t have the time. I had work yesterday, so I couldn’t work during my shift. I’m sorry…”  
“You work, Mr Lupin?”

Great, now she’s going to think he’s a poor boy who has to work to support his family. What a brave boy. Not wrong, though. He doesn’t want her to pity him.

“Just a small job. To make some pocket money.” She gives him a knowing look. He knows she sees right through him.  
“Anyways. I can see a perfectly good paragraph, here. I can read it if I concentrate very hard, though the rest is illegible. I’ll give you a delay, Mr Lupin. But only for this time. I know how seriously you take your studies.”  
“Thank you, Professor. It’ll sit on your desk by tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

God, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”. It feels like the only thing he ever says in his life. To his uncle, to the teachers, to his friends. Shut the fuck up already, he tells himself.

“Don’t apologize and just do your homework”, answers McGonagall as he leaves the room. 

He sighs a sigh of relief when he steps in the corridor. At least, he won’t have to worry about saving his English grade. That’s one problem less in his myriad of trouble.

When he finally finishes school, Remus decides he needs a break. He says goodbye to Lily and discreetly heads to the football pitch. He’s never quite liked football. It doesn’t make any sense to him, running after a ball, he always found it dumb and matches are always too bloody noisy. But he’s found out the football pitch is the best place to smoke without getting caught.

They’ve got a supposedly strict policy about smoking in the school. You can get expelled for it, but he’s never heard of anyone who actually did. Still, he’d prefer not to get caught, so he usually finds hiding places. 

He doesn’t smoke much at school, though. He prefers to do it at the bus station, or on the way home, so he doesn’t get in trouble. He doesn’t usually smoke at the football pitch, but then again, he doesn’t usually get an appointment with the counsellor and have a talk with McGonagall in the same day. Plus, the week has been a stressing one, so he really needs a fag.

He goes through the changing rooms to access the outside. He can hide in a corner if someone’s there. The football team usually doesn’t have practice at this time of the day, so he just has to hope nobody decided to play now. 

He opens the door of the changing room as discreetly as he possibly can, just in case someone is there. He did fucking well, because someone actually is there. A boy. With long black hair. He’s in the room, changing (wow, not that that’s what you’re supposed to do in a changing room. How stupid he is) turning his back to Remus.  
Remus recognizes Sirius Black. He would normally just close the door, and never think about it again, and find another place to finally have that cigarette. But he freezes. Fuck fuck fuck. Remus closes the door as fast as he can, while trying to keep the noise down. He doesn’t want Black to turn around or worse, to chase him in the hallway. He’s seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and it’s not just Black’s abs that all the girls fawn about.

Remus walks fast to escape the changing room. He doesn’t even mind where he goes. He just knows he wants to be away. When he feels he’s far enough, he leans his back against the wall. He really, really needs that cigarette now. 

Remus’ mind goes 100 miles an hour as he inserts the key into the lock. He lives in a shabby two-up two-down he and his uncle can barely afford to keep. The municipality ought to demolish it years ago, but the row of little red-brick houses still stands there. The neighbourhood is dirty, with people staring at you like they have nothing else to do with their time, and fathers reading the newspaper after a day at the factory, and gangs of skinheads hanging out in the street, smoking and listening to weird music. At least there are real people here.

He has decided not to think about the Sirius Black case before his shift tomorrow. He’s too busy now. Can’t afford to lose time about Black. He doesn’t even know him that much. He has his homework to do. The paper for McGonagall, and an exercise in maths, and a french exam tomorrow. There’s also that mock exam scheduled next week. And he has to cook. And school tomorrow. He really doesn’t have time for this shit. But the picture of Black’s hurt body won’t leave his mind. Shit. Stop thinking about that and focus.  
He barely manages to do his homework in time. He’s way too distracted, and his mind always strays to that new mystery. He doesn’t need that in his life right now. Ben gets back home while Remus cooks dinner. He smells like alcohol, though faintly. He must have been at one of his friend’s. 

Ben sits in his armchair, reading a magazine, while Remus puts the pasta in the water. He looks up at him, with a disagreeable stare. He doesn’t ask how his day has been, but Remus doesn’t either. They don’t do small talk. That would be ridiculous. Instead, Ben asks:  
“Where’s the sweater from?”

Remus wants to laugh. Ben really only notices new things. Things that look expensive. It’s true that the sweater looks out of place in his wardrobe. He’s passed all of his younger years wearing second-hand uniform jumpers and ties, always too small for him (not his fault he’s always been so tall and scrawny). None of his trousers and white shirts came from the official school shop. He made do with what he had. He did get some money from the state, scholarships and all that, but he’d rather spend it in something useful.  
He wore brown shoes for three years, even though it was forbidden in the school dress code, but no teacher ever said anything about it. They knew his situation. Sometimes, pity was useful, uh. 

Even now, he usually wears big sweaters, that are usually a bit faded. Remus Lupin isn’t one to care for style. So yeah, a new sweater would seem a bit weird, and of course Ben would notice.

“Got it from Lily”  
“Did you nick it, you little wanker?”

He quickly defends himself. He wouldn’t want Ben to be angry. Stay calm. Relax. With all the tension today holds, he just wants to punch his uncle. Real bad idea.

“I didn’t. She gave it to me.”  
“Like you’re some sort of charity case or something.”, Ben spits, “You’re pathetic.”

Remus hates being called a charity case. He’s doing all he can to get out of this shithole, and he won’t accept any help for it. He tries to focus on preparing the tomato sauce. He sighs, subtly.

“She gifted it to me. For my birthday. It was two weeks ago, don’t you remember?”

Of course not, he doesn’t remember. Why would he bother remembering his nephew’s birthday?

“Whatever. Don’t get cheeky with me, pretty boy.”  
“I’m sorry, sir.” He apologizes, hating every damn aspect of his life.

Today really is shit from start to finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did so much reasearch to try and understand how british schools work and i still have absolutely no idea if what i'm writing is accurate, so please appreciate this as-accurate-as-possible-story... Hope you liked it :)


	3. Chapter 3

The next day passes by without many incidencts. He forbids his mind to work for almost all of the school day, in order not to get distracted. He gave the essay back to McGonagall. He’s frustrated; he could not find some of the sentences he wrote. It just feels like a parody of the essay he first wrote, but it should be good enough. The French exam goes okay. At least remembering French conjugation is mechanical; it helps him concentrate.

When Remus sits on his chair behind the counter of the record shop later in the afternoon, he finally allows his mind to wander to the “Black Case”. Before that, he had to unpack heavy cardboard boxes full of records and sort them in alphabetical order, but now, except if a client needs some help, he should finally have time to really think about it. 

Sunny Afternoon resonates in the shop. Remus likes the classics.

He leans forward and recreates the scene in his mind. He doesn’t have to think much to summon the image, because it has been at the back of his head all day. Him. The cigarette. The football pitch. The changing rooms. Sirius Black. Black’s back. The scars on Black’s back. Shit. Shit. Shit. He can’t make the image of Black’s scars go away. He had scars all around his body. Neat, white lines, everywhere. On his arms. And on his calves. And on his back.

He knew a girl, when he was in foster care, who had the same white lines, all over her legs and her wrists, and probably her tights, too. But his back. God, his back. His back, his back, his back. Sirius Black isn’t a fucking contortionist. That’s no good. His thought aren’t going anywhere. That sort of thinking isn’t productive.

So, somebody is hurting him. That is the relentless and ruthless truth. He winces when he remembers how some of the lines were of a red and black-ish colour. They aren’t old either like his are. 

The tidiness of the scars bothers him too. They seem too ordered. Like they were made by someone who’s methodical, cold, whose mind is very clear when they hurt. That’s not the messy marks a drunkard leaves on their victim’s body. That’s some kind of discipline shit. It makes Remus sick.  
Remus tries to be logical, to sort out what he knows.  
1\. Black has scars.  
2\. Black is known for being a troublemaker.

Wait. He’s known for getting into fights, isn’t he? How fucking reassuring it would be to just assume it comes from some fight he had in a bar or whatever. And then, he could go back to his own life, with his own problems. But his conscience stops him from doing that. That damn conscience.

He knows, he knows the marks on his body obviously don’t come from punches. Of course, there are some bruises, too, but the rest. The rest looks like belt marks, or… Anyways. Something’s wrong. Let’s go back to the list. Lists are always good. 

3\. Black doesn’t get along with his family.

Shit. It’s no mystery. And…

A voice calls “Lupin!” in a surprised tone.  
Remus’ mind can’t stop in its tracks. Sirius Black, Sirius Black, Sirius Black… Sirius… Black? He looks up. Who the hell would be in front of him but Sirius Black himself? Just his luck. Black smiles at him with a mocking grin. 

It’s not a surprise that Black didn’t know Remus works here. This record store is not in Black’s area of the town, he usually must go to that other one in the western part of town. What is he doing here, anyways?

“What are you looking for?” Remus asks tiredly.   
“The band who was in Top of the Pops last week. Do you have their album?”

Remus wants to laugh. They don’t have telly in his house. Maybe that’s why Ben is always hanging out at his friend’s house or at the pub. Remus’s not going to complain about it, though. When he was little, he used to go at his neighbours’ to watch it. Sometimes, he crashes at Lily’s if there is something he really wants to watch.  
He looks back at Black, focusing on a point above his head, avoiding his gaze.

“You might be surprised, Black, but I have no idea who was on Top of the Pops last week. I’m gonna need a bit more than that.”  
Black sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, thinking. 

“Jesus. They were three, or four, I think. Hair a bit long. Wait, no. I’m not sure. Rather short, actually. They had a weird style.”  
“Wow. You managed to describe approximately 90% of the music bands in the UK right now”. He deadpans, finally gathering the strength to look at him, with a hard stare. 

Black really looks like the perfect son-in-law you could introduce to your parents. Like the perfect posh, aristocratic kid. He would be perfect as the singer in a boy’s band. His soft black hair moves elegantly when he turns around. It’s not curly, but it’s not straight either, in this kind of wavy style. He’s probably the type to have scented shampoo.   
His face is extremely delicate, in this type of delicacy that you don’t usually see in Remus’ neighbourhood. Maybe it’s hidden under the dirt and filth. Remus’ thin face and preference for books already earned him the nickname “Pretty boy” so he really doesn’t know how Black would be there.

Graceful eyebrows. Fragile lips. Sharp jawline. All angles and curves. It runs in the family. His brother has the same features, in a weirder, darker, way. Speaking of his family, a golden watch is attached to his wrist, glimmering in the light of the shop. He can act as if he hates his family, but he still profits from it. The doc martens at his feet are brand new too, and they’re not knock-offs. 

Nothing in his appearance seems like he would have problems at home. Actually, it looks just the opposite. If not for the leather jacket he sports, he would look like he’s going to drink tea with his grandma every Sunday. At school, he laughs, and jokes, and flirts with girls as if he was the happiest boy on earth. That’s what Remus always thought. Now, it makes him feel uneasy.

He’s always kind of hated Black. He’s popular, and handsome, and everyone loves or envies him. Everyone knows his little gang, with Potter, and inexplicably, Pettigrew. Popular rich pranksters. They act as if they were above everything, especially school rules. And the worse is: they can’t even manage not to get caught. They probably want to claim the glory.

Remus and him never interacted much, really. Remus was never actually interested in making friends at school. Lily is enough. No need to have friends that bring you trouble and speak with elegant accents. He has enough trouble like that, and that way they pronounce every letter in some kind of bouncing way gives him a headache.

Really, the only time they interact with each other is when Remus is with Lily, and Black is with Potter and when Potter, in the dumbest ways possible, tries to flirt with Lily. This bunch of guys are bloody idiots. 

Black goes on, trying to sing a melody Remus doesn’t recognize. 

“Bill!”, he shouts to his boss, who is pretending to work in the back shop. “Do you have any idea who was on top of the pops last week?”  
“Wasn’t it those new guys, uh… The Jelly, or whatever?”

Remus sincerely hopes it’s a joke.

“God, it was The Jam, wasn’t it? We must have their album; I think I unpacked some today.” He looks at Black and crosses his eyes. “You really are a shitty singer, you know.”  
Before Black can answer with his falsely offended face, Remus hears Bill shout: “Oi! Lupin! You’d better not be rude to the clients!”. Remus vaguely apologizes, more to his boss than to Black, before getting a copy of In the City and setting it on the counter. He looks at the cover of the album. The three guys on the cover stare back at him like they’re judging him in their black suits and weird glasses.

“Would you like something else?”  
“Yeah, I uh… heard about another band, let me just check.” He takes a crumpled paper out of the pocket of his jacket and shows it to Remus. With a thin and slanting writing, someone wrote “Talking Heads” on a piece of paper probably torn from a notebook. 

“I hear they’re pretty good”, says Black, because Remus doesn’t say anything. He’s determined to keep this a formal client/cashier interaction, with as little small talk as possible, not ready to acknowledge they’re in the same class. “They opened for the Ramones, this year, I think. I got told to check them out, I hope they’re worth it”.

Sara, his co-worker, loves them, so really, he knows the talking heads a bit too much for his taste.

Remus wants to take Black and to shake him. He’s so angry with him. He’s got all these scars on his back, and he’s there, with his stupid smile and showing all of his beautiful white teeth and asking about the talking fucking heads. 

“I didn’t think they were your type of music.”  
“Why would you know my type of music?”  
“Dunno. Do you want a bag for that?”

He wants to slap the smirk out of his stupid face, and to ask him “why do you look so fucking happy? Why don’t you say anything?” over and over again. Instead, he tells him his total is £5,98, takes the money Black gives him, counts the coins, and gives him his two pence back. The bell above the door jingles as Black leaves the store. The record store is empty again. 

Remus feels anger burn in his chest. How dare he be so insufferable?

After he finishes his shift, Remus sits empty-headed in the bus. As always, the sky is grey. He walks back to his house. As he turns to access his street, he hears someone shout his name. Again. Dimitri stands against a wall, his light blond hair messy with curls accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. Remus heads towards him.

“How ya doing? Ya got lots of work? Ben’s at the pub, you have a while to go.”  
“Thanks. I got homework, but I guess that can wait”.   
“Oh, how cute, you got homework”, Dimitri laughs. “Let me guess… “To what extent is Hamlet about the struggle to exist?”, or no wait: Philosophy. “Is conscience a source of freedom?” or whatever you guys do.”  
Remus laughs. “Pretty close. Actually its “Discuss the Theme of Morality and Attractiveness as Depicted in the Picture of Dorian Gray” so I’ll give you points for that.”  
“You want a smoke?” Remus eyes the joint Dimitri hands him, but doesn’t take it.   
“Nah, I’m good. Why are you outside?”

The question is dumb. Dimitri is always outside, actually. He knows everything that happens around the neighbourhood: who is cheating on who, and who is fighting, and even where Remus’ uncle is. He’s the eyes of the block: always hanging out outside, with beer, or vodka, or weed. And sometimes a book, too.

Dimitri actually is quite clever. He knows a lot. But he wastes his potential in alcohol and prejudices. He’s never done well at school, says he’s not adapted to the system. Back at St Michael, he used to get Cs, but he’s the kind of guys who is capable of discussing Sartre’s vision of life with you and knows a weirdly high amount of maths.

“My folks are fighting inside. They’re screaming like one of them just confessed to murder: dupek, chlapa, pieprzony idiota and all those sweet words, you know. I hope they haven’t started cursing on Jesus, though, or else it’ll really be the end of the world. It’s nice outside, anyways.”

Remus hangs with Dimitri for half an hour. They don’t talk much, just look in the dark and sometimes exchange statements like “Life’s shit” or talk about their life. Remus ends up taking a few swigs of beer. It’s dark when he finally goes inside. He’s relieved Ben isn’t home yet. He just opens a can of tomato soup, eats it as fast as he can, and quickly goes to his room before his uncle comes back.

In his bed, he forces himself to think about his homework, just to avoid other subjects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter :) I really am trying to instill British culture and all that. Also I did so much research for this chapter, only for it to turn out anachronistic... Everything mentionned really happened in 1977 but most happened a few months after the time the story is set, but I swear I tried haha
> 
> The Jam's Top of the Pops performance which is mentionned can be watched on Youtube, if you want to give it a try !

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it :) Please be nice to me, English is not my native language (English quotation marks are still my own personnal hell haha)


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